


Slouching Towards Bethlehem

by AvaMclean



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comic), Jossverse, Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaMclean/pseuds/AvaMclean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end. Even God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Title :: Slouching Towards Bethlehem  
Rating :: FR13  
Word Count :: 1200  
Disclaimer :: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. No infringement intended. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.  
 **Spoilers** :: Supernatural 5x16 ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ and BtVS comic #34 ‘Them F#©%ing’’

Synopsis :: Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end. Even God.

~*~  
Slouching Towards Bethlehem  
~*~

The incandescent light faded, leaving Joshua alone and he turned, frowning at the fact that the garden surrounding him was not his own before understanding dawned. Lowering his arm and slipping both hands into the pockets of his oversized jacket he waited, patiently as ever, for his creator to free themselves of the vegetation surrounding him. The echo of bird calls tapered off and a knowing smile graced his mouth as his creator simply appeared in front of him and still the first thing he noticed was his Lord’s eyes—wide and green and while God was so very old, they were still so very young. He inclined his head, a touch of reproach entering his tone as he stated, “I don’t like to be made a liar.”

“You weren’t. I came in at the end,” those eyes rose taking in the garden around them and a smile spilled across the delicate features God had always wore the few times they’d met face to face, “Cleveland Botanical Gardens.” 

“Yes,” Joshua nodded, “they’re smart boys, but not much for imagination.” 

“They hate me.” 

“They don’t hate you,” an amused brow arched and Joshua felt compelled to explain, “They don’t understand you.” 

His Lord turned, the boots he wore knocking against the concrete walkway leading through the vegetation surrounding them and Joshua followed, quietly waiting for the conversation to begin. He hesitated on the next step, sensing a change just before God turned, blonde hair sweeping to the side with the movement and those eyes stared at him before he asked, “Why do you refer to me as the father?” 

Confused, but not surprised by the sudden change in topics Joshua replied simply, “Because you are.” 

A delicate hand lifted, motioning towards the form he wore before God asked, “Even standing before you in this shell you believe me father?” 

Joshua took a moment to study it, to truly see something beyond his God and frowned. The face was pretty enough, nothing flashy or even memorable, but still striking because of the eyes and Joshua’s frown became more prominent as he took in the narrow shoulders covered by a jean jacket and a copious amount of blonde hair. Beneath the jacket was a gossamer top that shimmered with all the colors of the sky before sunrise, the only thing on his person even resembling the magnificence that he was, and slim legs were encased in jeans and tucked into tall boots, that covered the blue material up to the knee. 

Joshua took in this form, this form that he had seen before in varying degrees of dress though the ages and his eyes widened, mouth opening before a hand freed itself from the confines of a pocket to cup his stubble covered chin. “Is this—”

“My first form?” God interrupted, continued, “My true form?” Those eyes pleaded with him to understand, to believe as God stepped forward and finished, “Yes. It is.” 

“You were…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that statement without committing blasphemy. 

“Human,” a pointed chin dipped, lashes lowering as God turned his head to gaze once more at the towering trees beside them. “I was, yes. Before.” A hand reached out, fingertips tracing over one of the large leaves hanging before him and those fingers spread, barely reaching either side of it. 

Joshua remained where he was, unsure of himself and, suddenly, his place in all things as his God struggled for words before sighing. “Before all of this,” those eyes turned back to him, “before all of you. I was human and nature made me a god,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “I couldn’t save my world. So I created this one.” 

His hand dropped, falling away from the leaf and he stepped back, looked to Joshua with such sorrow before stating, “That is my truth. I’m not forever. I’m not omnipotent. I’m not worthy of your devotion.” A few drops of water lifted Joshua’s head, he gazed up at the clouds outside the glass roof above them and the rain that speared through it to fall against the vegetation and them. He looked back to his God, saw a tear fall from damp lashes down a curved cheek before God spoke, “They’re right to hate me.” 

“Then intervene,” Joshua sighed as a wince worked it’s way across God’s features and wished his brethren, the Winchesters knew the God he knew, “I have to admit that I don’t understand why you don’t.” 

A line appeared between his brows, drawing the delicate arches down before God explained, “The last time I intervened on such a level I destroyed a world. I can’t do that again,” he shook his head, blonde hair sliding around his shoulders, “I won’t.” 

“I’m assuming your world,” he offered an amused smile, “unless there was a previous me that you’ve never told me about.” 

His levity was ignored as God stared at him, those eyes looking past the form he wore to the core of him before God stated, “Of all my angels you are the only one I call friend,” there was a slight pause, a slight smile before he added, “and the only one that calls me on my bullshit.” 

Joshua nodded, thoughtful. “I was not always your favorite.” 

“No,” God turned back to the trees, “No, Lucifer claimed that place once. Long ago,” his voice dipped back towards a whisper, but Joshua heard it, of all the angels only he could always hear God’s will, “Lucifer was my Morning Star.” 

Another realization dawned for Joshua as he stared at God and realized the significance of when his father had pulled back from him, from all the angels and prompted, “When Lucifer rejected humanity—”

God interrupted, voice still a whisper, “He rejected me,” another wince worked its way across his features and he turned to Joshua and finished, “So I rejected him.” 

The pleading he saw in his Lord’s face tore at something deep within in him and Joshua shortened the distance between them only to hesitate in offering comfort. None before him, not even Lucifer, had ever touched their Lord and so the hand hovering beside that damp cheek paused and yet he couldn’t bring himself to lower it, to take back his offer and God’s eyes looked to him, saw him before they closed and he laid his cheek against Joshua’s palm and time stilled. 

Drops of rain hung between them, the scent of his garden gone from his perception as his Lord’s existence was laid out before him and he knew of the battle she’d fought and lost before she’d created this world and his brethren. He knew his Lord had named every angel ever created and she loved them, she loved all of them, even Lucifer, and it was a blinding thing, her love. Joshua knew his Lord and he knew the world she’d created and why and he suddenly, for a brief moment, understood all that was and ever could be and it weighed heavy on his shoulders.

His hand fell away, the weight fell away, but he knew, still he knew and he greeted his Lord, “Hello, Buffy.” 

She smiled. “Hello, Joshua.”

The end. 


End file.
